The Weight
by Amy Renee
Summary: One brother faces his worst fears when the other is infected.


Author's Note: I admit that I got the idea for this from the movie _Maggie_ , starring Abigail Breslin and Arnold Schwarzenegger. Not your typical zombie flick but great performances, especially by "The Arnold." I recommend giving it a watch. Those that have will definitely note the parallels. I probably could have done more with this, but I'm not that patient and got in the parts I thought of and really wanted in.

Anyway, I obviously do not own _Maggie_ and as always, I do not own _Supernatural_. I just like the ideas they give me to expand on in the world of the Winchesters.

I wanted to upload this as a multi-chapter fic, but for some reason the site wasn't having it. Hopefully it still reads easy enough.

Takes place in Season 2 after _Croatoan._

* * *

The Weight

CHAPTER 1: 

Infected

The sound of his breathing was harsh. The sheen of sweat that coated his body suddenly felt cool. He could dimly feel the rush of blood in his ears.

He looked to the body on the floor in front of him, the red coated blade in his hand. His arm stung and burned where impossibly strong nails had torn down into flesh. He could feel wetness there. It flowed freely. He knew. It wasn't just his own.

It had been awhile since River Grove, Oregon, since what had been dubbed, "the Croatoan Virus" had first reared its head. He had dodged it then; Trapped in the town's small medical clinic when the doctor's aid had locked him in a room and tried to infect him. His brother had saved him, and countless times after.

This time however, no one could.

His brother ran into the room, panting and splattered with blood.

"Took out 4 in the back," he said.

They had encountered a group of a dozen or more on the street. Rather than try to take them all on, they ran for the nearest cover: An abandoned clothing store. The rest had been SOP: Seal the entrance, check for internal threats and look for an exit. His brother had gone to take care of the latter while he maintained the seal against the outside threat.

The infected pounded and scratched on the steel cage over the doors. The shades and shelves they had pushed against the doors at least blocked the sight of them. The noise was almost deafening.

He hadn't noticed the infected man in the dark corner behind him.

They were fast and abnormally strong. The virus filled them with an insatiable rage. The more advanced it became the more they stopped resembling people. They stopped talking. Their bodies didn't succumb to needs like eating or drinking or respond to non-fatal wounds like normal. It was slow. So their minds and bodies would deteriorate as time went on, but still they kept going, until they became the things of nightmares.

The one that attacked him had been infected for a long time. He was covered in lesions, maybe from someone else's fight against him. He was covered in blood, both old and crusted and still freely flowing. There was now a gaping trench in the head.

As he stared at the infected's body he could see maggots had settled into some of the wounds. Bile rose in his throat.

This is what he had to look forward to.

He started to shake.

"Sam?" his brother asked, stepping over to him. There was concern in his voice.

He couldn't answer him. He couldn't tell his brother how he'd been so careless. He couldn't tell him that he'd have to keep fighting on his own. Hell, he couldn't imagine having to be on his own.

"Sam?" his brother repeated. He felt a hand around his upper arm. He was scaring his brother. He needed to answer, to say something. He swallowed thickly, his mouth dry. Slowly he turned and met his brother's worried gaze.

"I'm sorry, Dean." They were the first words to come and he was.

He knew the second Dean understood because watched Dean's green eyes grow bright and wild with disbelieving realization. He watched the fear and sorrow bloom in them.

An array of gunfire sounded outside. Then there was silence. Both men turned to look at the door. Dean tightened the hold he had around his brother's arm.

Suddenly the glass gave way then came more sounds: The heavy clumsy thuds of the shelves being thrown aside; heavy booted footfalls and men shouting. A wave of riot-gear clad men complete with masks and automatic weapons descended upon the brothers.

Sam was ripped from Dean's grasp. Dean yelled furiously and someone shoved him face-first into the wall, rough gloved hand pinning his shoulder and another restraining his hands. The bolo knife he'd had was knocked away.

"Remain still!" a commanding voice boomed from behind him.

Sam was thrown against the wall a few feet away. The brothers made eye contact, Dean's distress was just overshadowed by his combative expression. Sam's was simply regretful and complacent. The worst thing had just gotten worse.

A temporal scanner was waved across Dean's forehead. He defiantly turned his head. It beeped.

"Normal," a man said. He stepped over and repeated the procedure with Sam. "Got one," he called out. Dean and Sam exchanged alarmed looks.

Sam's arms were yanked behind his back. He cried out as the fresh injury on his arm was jarred along with his shoulders.

Dean growled and bucked with surprising force. He pulled towards Sam but the bastard behind him still had a strong hold on his wrists. Dean tugged one arm free. He was fully prepared to deliver a solid fist into the guy when another came in from the side and grabbed him.

Sam's wrists were zip tied but he barely noticed. All he saw was his brother fighting. Fighting for him.

Everyone was shouting, grabbing, restraining. Most ordered Dean to stand down, but he wasn't listening, intent on getting to Sam and beyond pissed at the guys holding him back. He was going to get himself hurt or worse.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, making the alarm evident in his tone, "Dean, stop!" His brother didn't listen.

"Dean!" Sam tried again. Dean's head snapped up. He breathed heavily.

"Stop," Sam said more softly.

Dean relaxed some. His face was set in cold hard stone.

"Two males in a restricted zone," another male voice said, "One with possible infection. We're bringing them in."

A hard palm pushed into Sam's back, propelling him forward towards the door. The black armored bodies filled in between, blocking Dean's view of his brother.

They were being taken in. _Sam_ was being taken. Sam cast a glance over his shoulder, eyes briefly meeting Dean's. He was shoved forward again and Dean's view was once again obstructed.

"Sam!" he called desperately.

CHAPTER 2: 

Diagnosis and Dr. Lee

Sam Winchester woke with a start, his older brother's frantic and core-shaken look tattooed in his mind. It would be until he died, he knew.

He looked down at the wound on his forearm. It was starting to seep through the gauze again, a thick sticky yellow and leaching pink. Dean insisted they keep cleaning it. Sam thought it futile, but let him for Dean's sake. It was the same as a terminal diagnosis. Short-lived. Dean was helpless to stop it, but he still needed to take care of Sam. Sam would give him that as long as he could. Truthfully, it gave him a little comfort too. Until he let his thoughts wander to whom would Dean comfort after? Who would comfort Dean?

Sam sighed and sat up on the bed. All things considered, he was lucky.

They had taken him to a level 1 quarantine for assessment, which was a sectioned-off unit inside the nearest hospital. The doctor that had assessed his condition had been none other than Dr. Lee from River Grove.

Both had been surprised to see one another. She looked exhausted, but everyone was trying to deal with this epidemic.

Doctors still believed it was scientific. Hunters and some others knew otherwise. Regardless, no scientific or supernatural cure had been found. Infection and death rates were high. Martial law was in effect. Curfews, restricted zones and quarantines had been established across the country. Everyone was just doing what they could to survive. That had been nearly every day for the Winchesters, but this was worse. This was everywhere.

She had cleaned and bandaged his arm and run the necessary tests. They had talked. After River Grove she had kept trying to treat patients and was called in to help having been one of the first and therefore more experienced medical professionals. "What bullshit," she said to that, "No one knows how to handle this thing."

"But you're helping," Sam had insisted. She looked at him.

"Sam, I'm sending people to their deaths. The ones who are infected, we all know what happens. I test them and when they're positive- and most are- it's my word that sends them to quarantine. Do you really know about quarantine, Sam?"

He shook his head slightly, not meeting her eyes. He was sure he didn't want to know.

"They're taken from their families, even before they start exhibiting final stage symptoms. Everyone's told that it's okay there; that they're not alone and when they're finally given that lethal injection it's like falling asleep."

She looked hard at Sam. "It's not."

Sam looked down. He'd figured as much, but the way Dr. Lee said it really struck him. All of those people. Now him. Dean couldn't know this.

Dr. Lee sighed, feeling a little badly. "I'm going to get your blood sample tested. I'll be back." She lightly touched his arm before she walked away. Sitting on the gurney against the wall in the bustling hospital hallway, Sam Winchester put his face in his hand and tried to suppress the tears.

A while later, Dr. Lee returned. He knew from looking at her that the news she had for him wasn't good.

He was infected, but he'd already known that. Still, he felt any hope he may have had burn out with the confirmation.

"Will I get to say goodbye to my brother?"

"The goodbyes are usually short. They whisk people off pretty quickly once infection's been confirmed."

Another blow to Sam's broken and dying heart.

"That's why I'm going to say that you're not infected."

Sam looked up at her, confounded.

She ducked closer to him, spoke quieter to avoid anyone hearing. "Look, I owe you, and I don't want to see you in quarantine."

"But I could hurt someone," Sam countered, somewhat incredulously.

"But I know you and your brother won't let that happen."

Sam's mouth drew in a tight line. That much was true.

"When you feel you can no longer suppress the urges, that's the maximum amount of time you have; that's when you have to take care of it. You understand?"

Sam nodded.

"Go back to admin and sign the papers. Your brother's waiting for you outside."

Sam slid off the gurney and turned to her. "Thank you," he told her. She gave him a small, sad smile and turned to walk away. He wanted to give her more than that though. He called to her. She stopped and looked back.

"Keep fighting," he said.

Dr. Lee's smile spread just a little, becoming a little more genuine.

"You too." She replied and continued down the hall.

…

Sam stepped out of the hospital doors and immediately saw his brother. Dean was standing solemnly with his hands in his jacket pockets. His head turned and he saw Sam. His posture seemed to deflate. His eyes were grave yet Sam could see readable relief in them. They stopped in front of one another, neither knowing what to say.

Dean threw his arms around Sam. Sam returned the embrace instantly. The gesture was that of solace, but not entirely without despair.

"You okay?" Dean asked into Sam's shoulder in an unusual tone.

"Yeah. She told you?"

"Yeah."

"What do we do now?"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. He buried his face into Sam's shoulder and tightened his hold, grabbing fistfuls of Sam's shirt.

…

Dean had been frantically trying to garner anyone's attention to see how and where Sam was.

"Please. I'm just looking for my brother," he finally pleaded with a nurse. She sighed, more annoyance than sympathy.

"What's his name?"

"Sam. Sam Winchester."

"Hold on," she said and walked away. A minute later she came back. "His doctor will be right with you."

"Thanks," Dean managed.

Several minutes later, Dean was surprised to see that Sam's doctor was a familiar face.

"Dr. Lee?"

She offered him a little smile. "I wish I could say it's good to see you again."

"Yeah," Dean breathed. "Sam, is he… How bad is it?" He had to force the words out.

Dr. Lee regarded him sympathetically. Dean sighed and closed his eyes. This couldn't be happening.

"I'm sorry," the doctor offered. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and ran his hand down his face. His eyes betrayed him and began to water.

"Dean, listen."

He steeled himself and did.

"I could get a lot of trouble for doing this. I don't think I need to explain what kind of risk I'm taking, but I'm going to release your brother."

"What do you mean?"

"My report is going to say he's not infected."

The younger man gazed at her quizzically.

"This way you two can be together until…" She looked down, "Until the end," she finished.

Dean hung his head.

"You do know what is going to have to happen, right, Dean?" Dr. Lee asked him seriously. He nodded.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that he'll start exhibiting more aggressive behavior, so make sure he's not around others. Now blood from the more advanced stage of the virus can actually take longer. You could have anywhere from twenty-four to seventy-two hours before he completely turns. You need to make sure he doesn't get beyond that. I don't want to have to regret this." She felt guilty for being so candid, but the gravity of the situation needed to be driven home. And oh, it was.

"I'll take care of him," Dean said as soundly as he could. Her eyes softened as they looked into his.

"I know you will. I'll send him down. Good luck, Dean."

And with that Dr. Lee regrettably left a very broken and defeated Dean Winchester standing in the middle of the lobby.

…

That had been thirteen hours ago. Now here they were, holed up in one of their father's cabins safely far away from people and only with each other; Dean an inner mess and trying to hide it; Sam a ticking time bomb.

As his younger brother slept on inside Dean leaned against the porch railing. He stared out into the woods, buried in thoughts he didn't want to be having. As though the already heavy weight on his shoulders and his heart hadn't been enough. It hadn't been just their father's dying or that they both knew he had sold his soul for Dean's life that had opened up that black hole in his gut and settled an anvil on his shoulders. Losing John was bad, but losing Sam? Dean couldn't do this.

Losing Sam was impossible, but there really was no way out of this one. He'd give anything to change what had happened or to have it be him instead. He knew Sam would never allow himself to harm anyone, let alone Dean. He knew Sam would end it himself if he felt he was at the tipping point. So Dean had hid their weapons. He couldn't bring himself to look at them right now knowing what he might have to do. There was still time. Sam was still _his_ Sam.

Dean had tried so hard all his life to protect him. Now he had failed. Sam was going to die, and Dean couldn't bear it. He knew he couldn't bear to let Sam harm himself, but how the hell could he do it?

All the while his father's last words rattled through in his brain. The last words he told Sam didn't exist, and God, didn't that just make him feel like a bigger piece of shit. He couldn't tell Sam, especially now, and he couldn't ignore his dad's warning as Sam faced exactly what John had said.

And Dean couldn't save Sam...

Why him? Why them? He began to cry.

"Please," he begged quietly. "Please don't take my brother." He looked up to the overcast sky above the treetops. Nothing answered back. He was alone. He let the soft sobs come, powerless and uncaring to stop them.

"Dean."

Sam was standing in the doorway. Dean turned his head away, shaking it.

"Dean, hey, man. It's okay."

 _Nothing's okay._

His brother's hand settled on his shoulder and Dean felt like the touch would break him.

"Dean, please."

Sam turned his brother towards him. "Dean," he said solidly to gain his distraught brother's attention. He gripped each of Dean's shoulders, squeezing slightly, grounding him.

"I'm still here."

Fresh tears welled in Dean's eyes.

"You won't be. I don't want to lose you, Sammy. I can't."

Something in Sam broke. He pulled Dean against him, palm across the back of his neck. "I know," he said quietly. He held on to Dean as Dean held on to him, heart breaking with his brother's.

CHAPTER 3: 

Marshmallow Fluff and Deer

"Lunch, Sammy," Dean proclaimed and set a plate on the table in front of his brother.

"Chocolate chip pancakes?" Sam questioned with a light smile on his face.

"You're favorite,"

"When I was ten."

"I thought we should bring back the classics."

Sam huffed a laugh. He didn't have much of an appetite.

"Made em' from scratch," Dean declared proudly. And it was so _Dean_ it made Sam smile. He took a bite. How could he not?

"Eh?" Dean inquired with the quirk of an eyebrow.

"They're… different," Sam said with the first bite. He took another and nodded. "Okay, yeah. These are good."

"Want to know my secret ingredient?" asked Dean, anxiousness evident. Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Marshmallow fluff."

There was silence then both brothers broke out laughing.

"You thought that was a secret ingredient for everything," Sam accused. "Remember the mac and cheese?"

"Hey, I seem to remember you liked that," Dean defended pointing a finger at Sam.

Sam thought back through the years. Dean had always taken care of him, not just saving his life from bullies and monsters and ghosts but all the little things too. Even though it hurt under the present circumstances, he got why Dean had done this.

"Thanks, Dean."

Dean looked at him. "Anytime." He smiled, but his eyes didn't hold it.

After they ate, Sam had helped Dean with the dishes. Now he sat on the wooden bench on the porch reading a book he'd found in one of the cupboards. Dean sat on the railing across from him.

He looked at the small red veins appearing on Sam's neck just above his shirt collar. The whites of his eyes were becoming bloodshot and abnormally red. His heart sank even further.

"We should have stayed here, laid low," Dean said suddenly. Sam looked up at him.

"And what, just let people die?"

 _But now you're dying, Sammy._ Dean didn't say it. He didn't have to.

"We just should have holed up."

"That's not who we are."

After a few beats the elder met the younger's gaze. "Look what it got us. The whole world's gone to hell anyway."

"No. That's not who you are, Dean."

They both knew they weren't talking about the rest of the world.

"Want a beer?" Dean asked divertingly.

Sam sighed. "Sure."

Dean walked to the fridge and pulled out a couple of bottles. He knew Sam wanted him to see that he was strong and that he could keep fighting, but there was only one thing Dean really cared about fighting for. If it was gone, there was nothing left that was worth it.

He stepped back out on to the porch. Sam wasn't on the bench. The tattered book he'd been reading lay discarded on the ground.

"Sam?" Dean called. His hand absently set the beers down. His heart began to thud hard against his ribs.

"Shh." came a hushed response. Dean walked to the end of the porch. Sam was standing below looking out into the woods. Dean followed his line of sight.

About 30 yards out, there was a doe with two fawns. They browsed along the forest floor, ears and tails twitching intermittently. Relief washed over Dean. He quietly stepped down and stood next to his brother.

The doe raised her head and regarded them. After a moment she went back to browsing.

"She's not even scared," Sam said. His tone held something akin to amazement. He sounded young and it reminded Dean of a five year old Sam. He was filled with a proud fondness. He smiled.

They watched as the doe and her young moved on through the woods. In that moment, they felt peace.

CHAPTER 4: 

Almost Normal

Dean didn't sleep. Not really. There was too much in his head to allow him that. There was also the fact that Sam might turn during the night. He sat on the couch and watched the fire as Sam slept in the bedroom.

This was night two. He couldn't think beyond that, couldn't think about how he might only have one more day- at most- with his brother.

He heard shuffling behind him. He turned and Sam was standing in the doorway. He watched him for a moment, unsure. "Sam?"

"Can't sleep," his brother replied. Dean let out a breath. He hated himself for thinking Sam may not have been Sam, but that was the reality of their situation. It was going to happen. It was just a matter of when. God did Dean hate his father right now for the burden his last words had laid on him. It made this so much sharper, so much more solid. More painful.

Sam walked over to the fridge, took two beers in his left hand, walked to the door and motioned to Dean with his right.

Outside, Sam leaned over railing. Dean did the same next to him. Sam handed him a beer.

"Thanks." Sam nodded. They opened them and drank, staring out into the quiet night. The occasional hoot of an owl and crickets were the only sounds.

"You feel okay?" Dean ventured.

"You know, as good as I can I guess."

Dean nodded. It was good enough. He took a swig.

"Tell me something you remember about Mom and Dad," Sam said.

"What?" Dean asked, caught off guard a little.

"Anything you remember."

Dean searched his memory. His time with both of their parents wasn't extensive, but it was more than Sam had. Sam never seemed jealous of this. He seemed happy someone kept these memories for him. John had never shared many. Dean knew it hurt too much. So Sam looked to Dean, like he always did.

Like he was now.

"I remember when I went to see you in the hospital after you were born. Mom was holding you, smiling. I'll never forget how happy she looked. She said, "Dean, come meet your little brother." I stepped over next to the bed. I couldn't believe how tiny you were. Then you opened your eyes and you just looked at me. For the longest time, like we already knew each other. They let me hold you and it just felt… right. I looked up at Dad and he was crying, which I thought was weird because he had this big smile on his face. Mom said, "You're going to be such a good big brother Dean." You know what I said?"

Sam shook his head, eyes shining in the dark.

"But when will he be big enough to play football with?"

Sam chuckled, as did Dean.

The wonder about how their lives would have been if their mother hadn't been killed was always there. Their family had known normal once, even if just for a short while. Sam had always been more curious about that normality, probably because he had never had it.

Now he never would.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam said huskily, and he didn't mean just for sharing the memory.

Dean put his hand on his shoulder. They looked back out into the night, sipping their beers. Dean dropped his hand but shifted closer so that their shoulders were touching, affirming. Sam leaned into it.

"I like it out here," Sam said. "It's almost like camping."

"Thought you hated camping."

"I think it's because we were never actually camping."

Dean hadn't really thought about it like that. If they ever tented out in the woods or stayed at a cabin, it was always on a hunt or to hole up from injury or the law. To Dean that was normal. To Sam, who wanted normal, it wasn't.

"Guess we never really did make time to roast the 'mallows,"

"You tried," Sam said, smiling at him.

"I just wanted you to stay a kid as long as you could," Dean admitted.

"Yeah, but you were still a kid too. You deserved it as much as I did."

Dean looked at him. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam smiled warmly in response then took another sip of beer. Dean did the same.

It was almost normal.

CHAPTER 5: 

Bullets and Brothers

The next morning was grim. Dean awoke on the couch and to the died-out fire. The sunlight that had been pouring in through the window the previous day was absent today.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He didn't even remember falling asleep. He looked around the cabin but Sam wasn't out in the main rooms yet. He got up and went to the bedroom.

"Sam?"

Sam wasn't there.

The covers had been thrown off the bed. He turned and saw that the front door was open. Dean's heartrate pick up yet again. For a moment he froze. This was it, wasn't it? How was he supposed to do this?

The trained hunter in him lived even in the recess of his mind. It put his body on autopilot even if his cognitive mind couldn't fathom what he was doing. He went over to the counter, pulled open the bottom cupboard door and lifted the false bottom out of the inside.

He reached into the duffle bag of weapons and pulled out his 1911. He dropped the magazine out, checked it and put it back in. He racked the slide, putting a bullet in the chamber. He got up and walked to the door.

He paused. He placed the side of the gun against his forehead, feeling the cool metal against his skin. His hand shook. His breathing became heavy.

He forced his feet to carry him outside, down the steps and on to the forest floor.

He called his brother's name.

Nothing.

Dean walked through the woods for at least half an hour. Though it felt like longer. He had covered a radius around the cabin, going further out each time, hollering his brother's name to no avail. He felt both hope and fear that he hadn't found Sam yet. Yet the uncertainty of whether or not Sam was still Sam and whether Dean would find him or not was eating him alive.

A branch snapped behind him. He could hear ragged breathing. He turned slowly.

An infected stood 20 feet from him. It wasn't Sam.

The man rushed him, Dean raised his weapon but his arm was knocked back with the impact. His shot went wild. He brought his other arm up in front of himself, bracing the attacker away.

The infected was yelling at him, sounds that were less than human anymore. It clawed and snapped violently. Red filled its eyes and trekked down its face.

Dean struggled to keep it at bay, tugging his armed hand up between them. He couldn't get a shot off like this. He had one option. He shoved at it, forcing it back and away as best he could and leapt aside. It almost wasn't enough and his shirt was seized in its fist. Dean fired four times. Wet droplets splattered his face.

All four rounds hit their mark. The infected stumbled backward and fell unceremoniously to the ground.

Dean breathed heavily. He wiped his face with his hand. He noticed someone standing a couple dozen yards across from him.

Sam.

For a second Dean's heart stopped. Sam looked awful. The red veins had crept further up his neck and were reaching for his cheeks. His eyes were largely replaced with red. But that expression… Dean knew it was still Sam.

They just starred at each other.

CHAPTER 6: 

Start of the Turn

"How bad is it?" Sam asked back at the cabin. They were seated by the table, chairs facing one another, knees touching.

Dean held Sam's face in his hands. He gently titled his head up and turned it to one side, then did the same with the other. The virus was spreading. There was no doubt.

Dean looked into Sam's eyes. They were hardly Sam's anymore, but Sam was still behind them, damn it. He couldn't bring himself to answer, which of course was all the answer Sam needed. He sighed hopelessly.

Dean laid Sam's arm across his lap and began unwrapping the gauze there.

"Why did you take off?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged.

"Sammy."

"I was scared," Sam admitted quietly as he watched Dean tend to the infected wound on his arm.

"I didn't want you to see."

 _I didn't want to hurt you_ , were the unspoken words.

Dean finished rewrapping the arm.

Dean placed his hands back on either side of Sam's face.

"Don't leave me like that again." His brother's head bobbed in his grip. Dean pulled Sam's forehead down and against his shoulder. One hand settled on the back of his neck and he brought an arm around his back. He could feel tremors going through Sam's body. His thumb rubbed the base of his little brother's hairline.

…

Dean had gone outside. He couldn't be near Sam right now. Not because he didn't want to be or because he was afraid of him: He couldn't let _Sam_ see _him_ like this.

He was terrified. Sam didn't have much longer and they both knew it. He wasn't disillusioned; he knew his brother knew how scared he was. Sam was still just a kid when he learned that Dean was just as human as he was. Yet it never stopped him from still having all the faith in the world in his big brother. God, Dean loved that kid.

As angry as he was with his father and as much as what he said screamed in his head all the time, he almost wished he was here now.

He knew what he was supposed to do but he didn't know how he could go through with it. He'd never survive this. He didn't think that he wanted to. He knew what Sam wanted, and he could always do what Sam wanted, but this was one time he didn't think it was possible.

Eventually he collected himself enough and went back inside.

Sam was sprawled awkwardly on the floor.

"Sammy?"

The shaggy head snapped up in his direction. This time the eyes weren't Sam's. Sam's brows drew together. His lips curled back in a snarl.

 _Oh, God._

"Sam," Dean said shakily. Sam got to his feet, glaring at Dean. Dean automatically pulled his handgun from the waistband of his jeans at his lower back. He raised it and pointed it at his brother.

"Sammy. No."

Sam didn't show that he heard him. He stepped closer, feet thudding heavily on the floor.

"Sam. It's me. C'mon." Sam continued towards him.

"Sammy, please. Please stop… No…. Don't do this. Not yet." Dean pleaded.

Sam's head ticked to the side. His face fell and his eyes seemed to lighten. He looked at Dean, fear readable in his expression. Sam dropped to his knees. He fisted his hands through his hair.

Dean lowered his gun and took a couple of steps closer.

"Sammy?"

"Dean?" Sam called out with confusion and fear in his voice. "Dean," Sam sobbed. Then Dean was there, gathering him into his arms, holding him against his chest.

"I'm sorry. God, Dean, I'm sorry." Sam sobbed against his brother.

"Shh. It's okay, Sam. You're okay," Dean soothed. He sat back, laying Sam's long body across his lap and chest, tucking his head under his collarbone, keeping him impossibly close. Sam was shaking. Hell, they both were. Dean rested his cheek a top of Sam's head. He started to rock, continuing his manta as Sam wept and gripped his older brother's arms and fistfuls of his shirt fervently.

Time stretched. Sam had quieted when he spoke again from below Dean's chin, low and lucid.

"I can't do this. Promise me that you'll make it stop. Please, Dean."

Dean heard the completely broken plea and felt his heart shatter. His mind reeled with images of Sam throughout the years, hurt, afraid and looking to his older brother to make it better. He's always trusted Dean to do so and has Dean had always tried.

"Okay, Sammy," he whispers as tears fall against his brother.

CHAPTER 7: 

Let Me Go

It was quiet. The light of the day was beginning to fade. Sam was still in Dean's arms. He hadn't moved him. He just wanted to hold on to him, as if doing so could keep his brother there. Sam had relaxed against him but Dean knew he was still awake, still aware.

The impending shadows from the dying light were ominous. Sam would die with the light. Sam was the light. Then Dean would be consumed in the blackness.

The sound of an engine met their ears. Light danced across the cabin's interior. The brothers picked their heads up. They looked at each other questioningly. Dean's brows furrowed.

Reluctantly, he released his brother and stood, gathering his gun and slowly going near the door. Behind him, Sam stood and closed the gap between them.

The heard vehicle doors close, then more than one set of feet on the porch. Dean had his weapon pointed at the door.

"Stay behind me," he whispered over his shoulder.

In any other non-urgent circumstance Sam would have scoffed, what was he five? Instead, he remained quiet.

Someone pounded the door.

"This is Sergeant Mason. Open up!" Dean glanced back to Sam. How the hell did anyone find them?

Dean felt his gut twist. The gunshots. Had to have been.

"We know someone's in there. Open the door or we will break it down."

Dean tensed. He subconsciously squared his shoulders and his jaw rippled under clenched teeth. His fingers curled firmly around his gun. His finger was already on top of the trigger.

"Dean," Sam tried to reason behind him.

"No."

"Dean!" More urgently.

Dean lined up his sight.

"Hang on, we're opening the door!" Sam called stepping past Dean.

Sam wheeled when Dean grabbed his arm. "Sam…" he started, his eyes huge.

Sam looked at him complacently. He went to turn towards the door only to be stopped by his brother again. The fear and desperation in Dean's eyes hurt, but this was the only way he could keep Dean safe.

Before another moment passed the door was kicked in. Again they were besieged, but this time they would take Sam away for good. Four officers also in riot gear flooded through the door and stood across from them.

"Drop the weapon!" It was yelled from behind a mask by a guy with a fully automatic. It was trained at Dean.

Ice gripped Sam's heart. Dean would die before he let them take him. He was fully prepared to.

Sam threw his arms up and put himself between the weapon and Dean in one fluid motion.

"Sam," he heard his brother growl from behind.

"Please," Sam said ignoring his brother, "Don't shoot."

"Drop the weapon!" the man repeated.

Sam cast a glance back at Dean. His eyes were dangerous. His jaw was set. Sam turned back to the men. "Please, just let me talk to him." His tone was soft, desperate and a curt nod was given at him. He turned and faced his brother.

Sam placed his hand on top of Dean's, pushing them and the gun held in them down. Dean stared at him, almost dumbfounded.

"Dean. Please." His brother didn't answer.

"You have to let me go."

Something flared in Dean's eyes.

"No. I won't do that Sam. I can't." His eyes started regaining that dangerous look and Dean started to push forward. Sam heard an order shouted behind him, could feel the ready weapons at his back but ignored it all. He firmly placed his palms against Dean's chest. His brother stilled at the contact.

"I'm not gonna let them take you."

"Yes, you are."

Dean winced at the words.

"Dean, listen. The only thing that makes any of this okay is that I know you're okay. Please don't do this. Don't get yourself killed."

Dean closed his eyes. When they opened they were fully serious.

"What would you do?" he challenged.

Sam let out a breath. "Do this for me, Dean. Please."

The gun was taken from Dean's hand. Then there were hands pulling at his arms, separating him from his brother.

"No. Wait-" Sam began to protest without thinking. _Just one more minute._

It was all it took to send Dean back into his protective mode. He started to lunge for Sam but was restrained from behind, an officer on either side of him, each holding back an arm.

"You either let us take him or we can shoot him right here," a low and less than sympathetic tone said from his left. Dean snarled.

Awful clarity hit as the brothers were pulled away from one another.

"Sam!" Dean's voice and eyes were dire. They welled with tears. Sam stared back equally, but with a look of calm that took all of his will to convey.

"It'll be okay, Dean. Just keep going, big brother."

"Sammy!" Dean tugged harder, more urgently at the hand holding him back. Tears flooded his vision.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam restated though it lost conviction in his breaking voice. He tried to smile as his own tears fell.

"No," Dean sobbed as he pulled harder towards his brother as he was dragged to the doorway.

Sam and the two officers on him suddenly lurched and staggered as something hit them from outside. In a split second a frenzy of snarls and guttural shouts filled the cabin's interior as a group of infected came through the door.

CHAPTER 8: 

Besieged Again

Dean was immediately let go and the retorts of weapons sounded inside the confined space. Sam and Dean instantly dropped as they were unarmed and likely to be just collateral damage to these guys.

The bursts were short and sporadic as the ambushed officers tried to take out their attackers. There were about half a dozen infected inside. It was hard to tell in the sudden chaos. Two infected went down. Three others rushed the two men next to Sam at the door and were on them in seconds. The men screamed. One squeezed his trigger blindly and peppered the far wall with a line of holes.

Sam stayed crouched to the floor to the side of the action. His eyes darted to the doorway. There was a slight opening in the struggling bodies. He looked at Dean through the rest of the commotion: Dean was pinned at the far wall; he couldn't get out.

Sam's ears felt full of cotton but he heard his brother call his name amidst the gunshots and screams. Dean couldn't get out, so Sam was not getting out.

Dean laid low behind the two men that had held him. He looked to Sam. His brother could squeeze out the front door if he tried. He yelled his name. Sam haphazardly looked over but didn't move. Dean cursed inwardly. _Stupid stubborn little brother._

The scene was mayhem. The officers fired at the attackers, taking one on top of one of the men near Sam and another but the others advanced rapidly. Two of the four officers were down. One was still moving. Two infected clawed, bit and shoved at the two still standing. An officer pulled a knife and stabbed one infected up through its chin. It went down with a thud. Another descended on him. The knife was dropped in the struggle and the infected threw him against the wall.

Dean looked over and saw one of the fallen rifles. He darted for it. Something collided with his chin, snapping head back with a tidal force.

It was a boot.

He dizzily looked up and saw the last upright officer looking down at him, looking into muzzle of his gun. He kicked the gun toward his comrade that had been thrown to the other side of the room, affectively putting it out of Dean's reach.

The other man finally subdued the infected, snapping its neck. Dean lay on his side, eyes automatically seeking out Sam. One of the downed officers next to his brother was getting to his feet. It was shaky. Sam could take him out.

One look at his brother however, greatly disheartened Dean. Sam looked… confused. His eyes were wide. They darted back and forth under creased brows as if he were trying to remember something. Dean watched the officers out of the corners of his eyes, hoping they wouldn't notice.

The one who'd been thrown into the wall picked up his rifle, looked at Dean at gunpoint then went over to the others. He knelt and checked the guy that was still down.

"He's alive," he called to the one with Dean.

"You and Holland do a quick sweep outside. I'm calling this in." The voice belonged to the proclaimed Sergeant Mason. The other man picked up the downed man's gun, slung it over his shoulder and looked back.

"I'll hold these two," Mason told him. The officer raised his own weapon, grabbed Holland and went out the door.

Dean waited. He could do this. No matter what, they weren't taking Sam.

"Don't do it, boy," Mason boomed above him. Dean glared up at him.

"You think you're the first person we've handled that won't give someone over?" The guy laughed. He _laughed,_ like it was just a friggin' joke to him.

Dean hardened his gaze.

"You should consider yourself lucky. We could have shot you both. Hell, probably would have been doing you a favor. Sure as hell would be doin' him one." He jutted his masked chin towards Sam. The voice was closer to his ear this time: "Prepare yourself, kid. He's not making it out of here."

Rage boiled inside of Dean. His chest heaved. Before he even registered what he was doing he lashed out at the man's legs, sending a hard blow with his foot to the side of his knee. He doubled over briefly. Long enough for Dean to reach out and encircle his hands around the rifle. The sling was around the officer, but Dean used it to yank him to the side and pull himself up in rapid succession.

He sent furious elbows into the softest part between the Mason's neck and the bottom of the mask he wore. Dean had him against the wall. The guy got over his initial stun and tried to push Dean off and gain control of his weapon. Dean wasn't having it.

The man was a threat. He was a threat to _Sam_. He'd do whatever it took. Even if Sam was going to die, it was going to be on their terms; these assholes were not going to interfere with the brothers anymore.

Dean and his opponent struggled against one another with equal force. Muscles quivered under the tension. A hand clawed at Dean's face. He titled his head away and brought his own hand up. He tore away the mask. Fierce blue eyes met Dean's. Dean brought his forearm up against the guy's throat and began to push.

Recognition bloomed in those angry blue orbs. With a guttural growl Mason managed to push Dean back then in one swift motion grab him and slam him against the wall where he'd just been. Enraged green eyes bore into his. He managed to get a hand around Dean's throat and immediately started squeezing. Dean bared his teeth. Mason had become just as determined as him, and now he had the upper hand. Dean needed to get it back.

Dean's body tensed and fought with everything he had. Still, the guy didn't budge. Dean couldn't breathe with the crushing weight around his neck. Mason pushed further. He started to smile.

 _No,_ Dean thought. _Not like this. Sam!_

Dean's vision was dancing with black spots. He could feel his body weakening.

There was a flash of movement from behind Mason and suddenly the weight against his body and on his throat was gone. He slumped over, unable to stop from doing so as air rushed into his windpipe.

He heard scuffling, heard the guy grunting. It sounded fearful. Dean looked over. Sam was in front of the man. He had either hand around his head, pushing the Mason's helmet aside and was slamming it into the wall with a ferocity Dean had never seen from his brother.

CHAPTER 9: 

Whatever it Takes

Sam could feel something inside changing. He felt fire course through his veins. He saw flashes of white and sound was muffled. He looked over to Dean. His brother, he remembered, and that scared him because he found that was about all he knew for sure. Other than the fire.

When Sam looked back, Dean and the officer were fighting. The back of Sam's mind screamed in urgency but he found he couldn't move. He watched through horrified eyes as his older brother was pinned up against the wall and a hand was snaked around his neck. He watched as the fight started going out of his brother. He watched Dean's struggle to get air.

Sam felt something ignite inside of him. The fire exploded throughout his body. He no longer saw his brother, but the man in front of him; the man that was _killing_ him. He saw flashes of red and lost all thought.

…

For a moment Dean couldn't move. He stared on in dumbfounded fear. Blood splattered the wall. More with each thud. Sam wasn't violent. He wasn't a killer. Yet that is exactly what Sam meant to do.

Dean couldn't let him. It was ironic since he was ready to kill the guy himself a moment ago, but this was _Sam_.

Dean rushed over and grabbed the back of Sam's shirt. He tried to pull his brother off. Sam didn't even seem to notice him. He was fully absorbed in his vicious mission.

"Sam!"

He tried pulling on his brother's arms to no avail. Finally Dean wrapped his arms around Sam from behind, locking each of his hands around the other's wrist.

Sam fought against him with amazing strength. It took everything Dean had just to keep his hold. He back peddled as hard as he could, but Sam kept grabbing at the man. Dean spared a glance at him: His face was soaked with blood. It fell from likely more than one place up inside his helmet. He couldn't tell if he was unconscious or dead.

The way Sam fought him and the growls that resonated from his little brother were completely feral. Demonic would be the accurate term. Dean kept him in the bear hug, kept inching them back. Sergeant Mason collapsed to the ground in a boneless heap. Sam kept reaching for him, trying to get his bloodied hands back on him.

"Sam! Stop!"

Sam suddenly tried to twist around. He had a new target. Dean squeezed his arms tighter to try to keep Sam's pinned at his sides, but god, his brother was _strong_. And Dean was tiring.

Sam broke free from his older brother's restraint. Dean's eye's widened in surprise. Sam didn't pause and he lunged for his brother. Dean caught him by the shoulders. Sam pushed against him. He dug his fingers into his forearms.

"Sam!"

His little brother's face inches away from his own, was almost unrecognizable. It wasn't his little brother anymore. Sam's sensitive and devoted hazel eyes were replaced with a shades of red. They were utterly enraged. His lips curled back into a snarl, contorting his face in a grotesque way.

A sob escaped the older man. "Sam," he cried, grief-stricken.

Dean continued to hold Sam back. Sam continued to push toward him. Dean had the thought of just letting go and let whatever was going to happen, happen. He was tired. He was just so damn tired. He looked back to Sam's face. Not _his_ Sam.

It was the virus. It was the fucking demonic virus that had done this. It was the demon killing his mother then killing his father. It was his father's last words to his eldest son. It was the world going to _hell._ It was _his_ world going to hell. He'd lost everything. He had let down the one person left that mattered most.

He couldn't accept it.

With a feral rage-filled yell of his own Dean shoved back against Sam. Sam flew backwards. Dean narrowed his gaze. Sam rushed him. Dean ran at him. He collided with his brother's body, crossing his arms over Sam's chest and slammed him into the wall.

"C'mon!"

He didn't know what he was doing. He was hurt and angry and lost and this thing had taken over his brother. The same brother who followed him around as kids, who always looked to him for love and comfort and safety; the kid brother who wore his heart on his sleeve and gave Dean his very reason for existence.

"Snap out of it, Sam!"

Sam thrashed crazily against his hold. Dean didn't move. He didn't know where his strength had come from and didn't give a damn. He'd hold Sam here all day.

Sam's hand raked across his face. He felt his flesh rip on his cheek. He slammed Sam against the wall.

"Sam! Snap out of this, damn it!"

Sam screamed in his face. Dean hit him. He saw even more furiousness light up in those once hazel orbs. He hit him again and again. This wasn't Sam. It had taken Sam away from him.

"God damn it it's not happening like this! I will not let it! You understand me?!" Dean screamed.

A remarkable thing happened. Dean's tirade halted as he watched those inhuman eyes soften before him. Sam's face slowly fell, confusion replaced rage in the eyes as an internal war went on in them.

Dangerous hope flared in Dean's chest.

"Sammy?" he said disbelievingly. Sam flinched.

He couldn't believe it. He had acted purely on a primal last ditch impulse. He hadn't expected it to do anything, not really. Yet it was working.

Sam's body relaxed. His breathing slowed to a more controlled rhythm.

"That's it. Come back, Sam. To me, little brother," he instructed.

Sam slowly raised his head. It took a moment but he found Dean's shocked face in front of his own.

"Dean."

At the sound of his name from his brother Dean felt like he could cry. Then Sam looked away, brows creasing uncomfortably.

"Dean. What did I do?" His voice was impossibly small. He looked back to his older brother and gripped his forearms.

Dean swallowed. Sam looked from the bloodied officer lying on the floor to the welling torn flesh on Dean's cheek.

"Oh, God." It came out as a whisper. He sounded like he would be sick. "What did I do?" Sam repeated shakily. He began backing away from Dean like a frightened animal.

"Sammy…"

Sam shook his head vigorously. Dean started to take a step towards him. Sam put out his hand.

"No. Stay away from me."

"Sam."

"Stay away. I don't want to hurt you anymore."

Sam had reached his breaking point. So had Dean.

Ignoring his brother Dean crossed the space between them and put his hands on his shoulders. This time they weren't restraining. Sam tried to flinch away.

"I have to be stopped, Dean."

"Sam…"

"Look what I did. Look what I was going to do. To you."

"You didn't, Sam."

"Did I kill him?" Sam asked.

Dean couldn't answer.

"He was hurting you."

"I know."

"I lost it. I saw red and I couldn't think. I couldn't stop. I couldn't stop, Dean"

"It's okay."

"No."

Sam's remorsefully tearful eyes sought out Dean's.

"Help me, Dean." Dean closed his eyes and put his hand on Sam's chest.

"This is how you save me."

Dean was a little taken aback at that. Sam didn't know John Winchester's last words, but he still knew how Dean felt.

Dean's hands slid back to Sam's shoulders. He pulled Sam's chest against his and threw his arms around his shoulders. Their cheeks rested against one another's. Sam leaned in exhaustedly. Dean closed his eyes again and breathed in the scent of his brother beneath the blood and sweat and something faintly foreign.

Dean took his brother's face in his hands and leaned forward so that their foreheads touched. Sam held on to his forearms. After a long moment they parted from the embrace and just looked at one another. Sam saw the brokenness in Dean.

Gunfire sounded from somewhere outside the front of cabin. Looks like the other two- Holland and the other guy- ran into some trouble. Dean had almost forgotten about them.

Dean recovered his 1911 from the floor and tucked it in his waistband. He went over to where Sergeant Mason lay. He regarded him a moment. Dean still couldn't tell if he was alive but he didn't really care at the moment. There was nothing he could do for him anyway. He untangled the rifle sling from his shoulder.

"C'mon," he whispered to Sam, pulling his arm as they backed into the bedroom. Dean shut and locked the door. The brothers barricaded it with the dresser and the bed. They backed towards the bathroom. It had the only window. Sam looked out.

"It's clear," he told Dean. Dean stepped into the small room. Sam stepped out. He grabbed the doorknob from outside, placing his body half behind the door. Dean turned and saw him.

"Sam. What are you doing?" Dean asked, already knowing the answer.

"You're getting out, Dean."

"Not without you." Dean stepped closer to the door. Both brothers tensed, ready to counter the other's actions.

Sam stared at him. There was so much he wanted to say, but he had to do this.

"Thank you for everything, Dean. I love you, big brother." Sam quickly slammed the door shut.

"No!" Dean lunged for the door as it swung closed. He grasped the handle and pushed against it with his shoulder.

"Sam!" he called desperately. "Sammy, please! Don't! Don't do this. Let me out!"

Sam held steadfast against the other side of the door and his brother's pleas. He reached and pulled the chair over and wedged the top under the handle. He slid the bed and the dresser over from one door to the other. It opened him to the oncoming threat and sealed his brother off from it. That was what he was going for.

He'd seen the despair in Dean's eyes and knew he couldn't ask any more of his brother. Sam also knew he couldn't go on like this. He pulled the knife he'd scavenged from the floor of the attacks when his brother went for the guns. He sat on the bed, listening broken heartedly to Dean begging him on the other side of the door.

He took a breath and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

CHAPTER 10: 

Too Late

Dean screamed his brother's name. He repeatedly threw his shoulder into the door, hardly noticing the pain that started to burn there. He was beyond cognitive thought. His mind screamed one thing:

"Sam!"

He yelled and pushed himself against the one thing between him and Sam. Eventually it started to give. A little at a time but he kept at it relentlessly, grunting with the effort. He finally wrapped his hands around the side of the door and began shoving it open further. When it seemed like it was ajar enough, Dean squeezed through, having to push it further as he did but he'd finally made it into the other room.

He was too late.

Sam lay on the floor, surrounded by blood which pooled around him. The insides of his forearms had been slashed deeply from mid-arm to wrist. The knife lay on the floor next to him.

Dean couldn't move, couldn't breathe. His body went cold and numb. A strangled groan escaped his throat and he dropped down next to his brother.

Sam's eyes flashed faintly, an apology.

"Oh, God, Sammy. What did you do?" Dean keened. "What did you do? Sammy!"

He slid an arm under Sam's back and lifted him. He wrapped his hands around Sam's wrists, instantly feeling sick as they slid in the slick blood that coated them.

"No," he cried disbelievingly, "No, no, no, no."

He looked into Sam's face and saw the light leave Sam's eyes. He felt Sam die, felt the life and warmth leave his body. His brother was gone.

Dean folded him closer to himself. He put his face in the hair, took a deep breath, trying to hold on to the last residual warmth and scent. He tucked Sam's head under his chin, bloody hand on his face. He pushed the hair back in such a familiar gesture. Sam wouldn't feel it.

Dean moaned, unable to control his anguish.

"You had to do it your way, didn't you, Sammy."

He almost laughed crazily. Sam always did things his way. Even when they were kids and their father made them do something, Sam always did it just a little different. Belligerent little brother.

"I was supposed to save you," Dean choked. "I was supposed to save you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He wasn't aware but he began to rock his brother's body. It wasn't unlike earlier, but then he had still had Sam.

"Sam," he said weakly. Dean wept, holding his brother close.

Funny how none of it mattered now. He'd lost his mother, his father; the world was hell and his Dad had told him something awful before he died. It had eaten at him and eaten at him, even while Sam was getting sicker. Especially then, but there had been something more important. It had been right there in front of him, but now Sam was dead.

Sam was dead and he was still here.

Dean heard voices in the distance. Unfazed, he looked up. He saw his gun laying a few feet away. Holding Sam closer with one arm, he reached for it with the other.

CHAPTER 11: 

The Reality of It

"Dean!" Someone was shouting his name.

"Dean, damn it. Wake up!"

He didn't want to.

Something hit his face and damn, did that smart.

"Th' hell?" he managed.

There was an annoyed but relieved sigh above him.

"Dean. C'mon, man, wake up."

It sounded like Sam. But Sam was gone. He couldn't save him and he'd lost him.

"Dean. Please. You're scaring me."

 _Sam._ It was Sam, and he was afraid and asking for Dean.

Dean fought to open his eyes.

"S'm?"

"Yeah, Dean."

Dean forced his eyes open and instantly sought out his brother. Sam was sitting beside him, watching him worriedly. Dean bolted upright. He was lying on a bed in a motel room that looked vaguely familiar. Then again, most did.

"Sam?" He stared at his brother with huge eyes. He had just been holding Sam's blood soaked corpse. "Sam?" he spoke again, soft and uncertain.

"Last I checked," Sam said.

Dean tentatively reached out towards him, needing confirmation. His fingertips brushed solid jeans. He grabbed Sam's wrist. The same that had been cut open only moments ago. Hurriedly he flipped his brother's arms over, examining them.

"Dean, what –"

"There's nothing there," Dean said absently. There was no sign of cuts or the infected torn flesh that had been on Sam's arms.

"Why would there be?" Sam asked confusedly. He was getting a little more freaked out. Dean looked at him.

Dean didn't immediately know what was happening. Was he dead? Was this heaven? The questions were cast to the wayside because Sam was here. He was alive and he wasn't infected, and truth be told, Dean didn't really care how or why.

He pulled Sam into a rough embrace. Flabbergasted by his brother's action, Sam slowly returned it, until his brother started squeezing a little too hard.

"Uh, Dean?"

After a moment his brother made himself let go, but he kept a hand around his arm.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked him.

"Me? Yeah, Dean," Sam replied incredulously, "What the hell is going on?"

Dean forced a laugh. "Nothin'. I just… bad dream I guess."

"Bad dream? Dean, do you know what happened?"

Dean felt his stomach sink. Had it been real? "No. I guess I don't," he ventured.

"Dude, you tripped in the bathroom. Hit your head. I found you out cold on the floor."

Dean's brows creased. Now that Sam mentioned it his head did hurt. He reached up and winced as his fingers touched a small bump just inside his hairline.

"The bathroom?" _Sam had locked him in the bathroom._

"Yeah. You were unconscious for an hour. I almost couldn't get you to wake up," Sam confessed. There was audible fear beneath his voice.

Dean was quiet. He couldn't stop looking at his brother- His very much alive and well brother as his mind processed everything.

"So, you were dreaming." Sam regarded him.

"Yeah. I guess. You were there."

Sam huffed. "You didn't go to Oz did you?"

Dean snorted at that. "No. It was worse." His eyes became serious and shadowed. Sam swallowed.

"You were crying."

"Huh?"

"You were crying," Sam said cautiously. Dean had said a few other things too, and called out for Sam, but Sam didn't believe it was prudent to mention that.

Dean could see the worry that was still evident in Sam's face and in the slumped shoulders.

"Sorry."

Sam scoffed. "You don't need to apologize."

Dean's mind was still kind of reeling with reality. "Hey, Sam? The virus isn't infecting people, right?"

"There hasn't been anything since River Grove. Seems like it was just there. Nowhere else was hit."

Dean nodded.

"That what you were dreaming about?"

Dean studied his brother. River Grove had just happened. For all Sam knew, that's what Dean had dreamed about.

"Let's get out of here," Dean said.

"What?"

"I don't want to be cooped up anymore, man. How about we hit the road?"

It wasn't a lie. They had been cooped up in the clinic at River Grove. Dean had been cooped up in that cabin where he watched his brother die but didn't. He felt cooped up with all of this shit in his head all day. He wanted out.

"We only got here a few hours ago."

"I know, Sam, but…" He met Sam's eyes. "Please. Let's just go."

Sam looked at him with that worried expression on his face again. It had never completely left.

"Alright." He wouldn't argue. Dean needed to go so they would go. He knew his brother and he could tell when Dean was hurting. Sam knew it wasn't because of the goose egg on his head either. They gathered their things.

…

Dean felt grateful to go outside of their room to find the world still intact. People and cars were still everywhere and going about their business as usual. He sat behind the steering wheel of the Impala and felt at home again. He relaxed a little as they drove. He wanted more distance between them and River Grove.

Sam had been exposed to the virus but didn't become infected. Dean couldn't bring himself to think about the implications of his brother seemingly being immune to a demonic virus at the moment. Though it was certainly on his mind accompanied by what their father had said.

As the day wore on, it kept pushing frontward. There was that and what he'd seen when he'd been knocked out.

Dean hadn't actually watched Sam succumb to the virus. He hadn't really watched Sam die. It had just been a dream; the result of a bump on the head, but the parallels were hard to ignore.

He wanted to get as far away from all of it as he could. Yet he felt like it was all getting closer. The further he drove, the more he thought about it and the heavier it settled on him.

Sam was quiet in the seat next to him. Dean knew Sam wanted to ask, wanted Dean to talk, but he wouldn't push him. Not yet. But soon he'd start, because he always did. Just like when their dad died. Sam had let Dean alone for a while. Then he hadn't. Sammy was never satisfied unless he could get his brother to talk about it. _Stubborn little brother._ He'd bide his time but Dean knew it wouldn't be long before Sam started pressing him.

Would that really be such a bad thing? Dean had seen Sam die. Real or not it was incomprehensible. He hadn't told his brother even in his dream because of the promise he'd made their father and because he didn't want to scare Sam. Maybe if Sam knew, things would have turned out differently. Maybe they would still.

Truthfully he was getting tired of the weight of it all. He needed a break. _They_ needed one.

Dean saw a spot by the river and pulled off the road. He shut off the engine.

Sam look at him quizzically. Dean got out. Sam did the same. The elder grabbed two beers from the cooler and handed one to Sam.

"What's this?" Sam asked.

"I think we are entitled to a little R&R," Dean told him, giving him a smirk.

Sam smiled back, and God, didn't it make everything harder.

They walked over the railing overlooking the water. They sipped their beers and watched the water in silence for a while.

"So. Last night. You want to tell me what the hell you were talking about?" Sam asked, breaking the silence.

Sam had started pushing. Dean didn't expect him not to. Not after what he'd said in River Grove, not after how haunted Sam knew he was today.

Dean carried out his usual tactics. He punned. He chalked it up to thinking they were both going to die. He suggested they take time off, which had a serious enough undertone he knew Sam would get, because this job, this life was getting to be something Dean couldn't handle knowing what he knew. It wasn't worth risking Sam. Nothing was.

"Why are you saying all this?" Sam asked, clearly concerned now.

Dean shook his head, turning away.

"No, no, no, no, Dean. You're my brother, all right? So whatever weight you're carrying, let me help a little bit."

That was so _Sam_. Dean didn't want to burden him too with this, but he'd be lying if he said it wasn't tempting. He didn't know what the right thing here was anymore. He didn't want to tell Sam but if doing so could save him then it would be worth it.

"I can't. I promised," he told him.

"Who?"

"Dad. "

"What are you talking about?" Sam was truly perplexed now. They were well past ignoring this or hiding it.

Dean had promised his father. While he had loved and respected his father, Sam was his responsibility, his first priority. Always had been. If it ensured Dean wouldn't have to go through what he did in his dream, it was worth it.

"Right before Dad died, he told me something."

Dean looked down, unable to meet Sam's eyes as he finally admitted that. He took a steadying breath and looked at Sam then because he needed to. "He told me something about you. "

"What? Dean, what did he tell you?"

And just like that everything changed.

Dean didn't tell him to lighten his burden. He needed Sam. He believed to his core they were stronger together. He couldn't do this alone, but together, maybe _they_ could.

END

* * *

A/N: So after I saw _Maggie_ I could see something like that between Sam and Dean. However, I'm not into AU's and didn't like the whole end-of-the-world scenario being real (or Sam actually dying.) That's why I went with it being a dream. Obviously the Croatoan virus exists in the world of Supernatural so I made it relevant to that, though I took some liberties with it.

It popped into my head that this story could or should fall in sync with the end of the episode/beginning of _Hunted_ as part of what helps push Dean to finally reveal his father's secret. I'm not sure how I feel about that though. Also, after finishing this I realize there might be a little _28 Days Later_ in it too, so let me say I don't own that either for butt coverage purposes.

I know it's dark and dreary and maybe outlandish but I hope you thought this fic was interesting. Thanks for reading!


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